Freedom

Pitter patter of little feet outside the door again
It’s 3AM as she crawls into my bed
A needy child whose had a bad dream
Incessant on knowing how I plan to pay off my debt

She is a whisper in the wind
Twirling the hairs at the nape of my neck
Softly decreeing “something bad is coming”

I am her workhouse, and she is my anxiety
She hitches me to her plow and directs me all about town
Asking “where would you go without me?”
Demanding to know how I could possibly be safe if
watchfulness isn’t my ever present state

She is a stuck up bitch
Jealous anytime I make a new, uplifting, friend
She manipulates my emotions with declarations
“They don’t really like you” she protests

Anxiety is an oppressor, and an abuser
She tells me I’m a fake and a phony
Worst of all, she supplicates belief that this will be me,
for all eternity

She weaves so many webs I no longer know if I’m the spider,
or the fly

My muscles tight and my will weak, her lies are a baseball bat
to the back
Tears in my eyes from never ending defeat

Where I once was a Goliath, I’ve withered into a wisp
All because a lonely little girl found sustenance via my loss
of power

They says there’s two sides to every story, and the sad truth
is if you asked her she’d say she is my protector
A mother bird incubating my self-preservation

Keeping me safe, held tight to her chest, fed off
regurgitated versions of her own harrowing adventures

If you ask my anxiety she’ll say she is my creator, a teacher
influencing who I can trust

However there is no story, there is no personified being
tucking me in to bed, and kissing my forehead goodnight. There is only my
critical inner voice, pacing the bell towers of my mind with frantic eyes.

Yet as I grow, watching my plumage come in

A new voice begins to sing to me, soft and sweet

She’s slides through my crevices and fills them with light
and belief

That not all alarms need to be answered

Freedom yearns for me to put one foot in front of the other

She knows what Anxiety hopes I’ll never learn….

The truth that all birds must eventually fly from their
mothers.

………………………………………………………………………

Written by guest Callista Carol.  Writing is copyright protected.  For more information about our website or to collaborate on a piece, please email us at getwokecoven@gmail.com

 

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